


"Like a Sister" by Leviathan

by Leviathan0999



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviathan0999/pseuds/Leviathan0999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ron has left them, the Horcrux works on Hermione and Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Like a Sister" by Leviathan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Argyle S](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Argyle+S).



**"Like a Sister"**

* * *

            “I can't believe he's gone,” said Harry, staring at his feet. “I can't believe he's left us.”

            “_Fuck_ him!” said Hermione, and Harry's head snapped up so fast his neck clicked audibly, “Fuck him,” she repeated. “We don't need him! If he won't stand by us, what good is he?”

            “Hermione?” asked Harry.

            “I mean it!” She stood, pacing around the living room of the tent. “You think I like tramping around with no goal in sight? No plan and no real way of getting one?” Harry opened his mouth to snap out a response, but she rode him down. “But _I_ stayed, Harry! I stayed for you! If he couldn't do that, then what good is he?”

            She spun towards Harry again, hands at the collar of her warm, plaid flannel shirt, tearing it open to expose the Slytherin locket hanging between her breasts. Buttons rolled on the floor around Harry. “I don't like wearing this thing any better than you, but that doesn't make _me_ abandon you to carry it yourself!”

            Harry was staring at her, eyes wide, and her own eyes followed his gaze, and she laughed darkly. “What did you think, Harry? I'm the only seventeen-year-old girl in Britain without breasts?”

            Harry's face coloured. “I-- I'm sorry!” he looked away from her, stared at a spot on the tent's ceiling. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean-- I mean, I wasn't...” He trailed off lamely, shifted in his seat, stared down at his trainers instead.

            “It's all right, Harry.” Her voice was _very_ close, and when he looked up she was staring down at him from less than a foot away. The open plaid shirt revealed twin swells of shapely breasts, not particularly large, within a simple white cotton bra, the Slytherin locket hanging between them. The shape of her rib-cage, more smoothly muscled now, as their time living rough had strengthened her, and the feminine swell of her belly diving down into her black denim jeans. “I don't mind you looking. In fact, I think I rather enjoy it. You like what you see, don't you?”

            Harry stared up at her, wide-eyed, as she looked down at him with an almost vulpine expression of hunger. Candlelight glittered from the gold locket between her breasts. “_Fuck_, Hermione, what are you--”

            “'Fuck Hermione?'” she asked, licking her lips. “Is that what you want?”

            Harry started to look down, but his gaze was caught by that glittering locket.

            “It's warm, Harry. Touch it. It's warm.”

            His hand moved slowly up, fingers touching the golden metal of the locket. It was warm, and seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

            Hermione's fingers closed around his wrist, and moved his hand over, pressed it against her breast, and he moaned. She felt so good under his hand, the nipple hardening, pressing into his palm through the cotton of her bra, and he looked up into her eyes, so deep and brown beneath her dark, mobile brows, so hungry. Hungry for him. In his peripheral vision, the locket glittered.

            He stood quickly, bringing his mouth savagely up to hers. She tasted of their rough dinner, mushrooms and hard bread and cheese. She tasted of _Hermione_, a flavour he'd experienced in the briefest of tastes in happy pecks at Christmas and other happy occasions. And underneath, something metallic and cold in her flavour, and that drew him on, insistent, demanding, as his tongue moved against hers, and his hands slid, one up, one down, to hold her by her sides.

            He felt her hands grasping the hem of his tee-shirt and jumper, and she slid them up, and he stepped back, raising his hands to allow her to slide them over his head and off. As he did so, he felt a sense of foreboding, of doubt. _This isn't right. Ron--_ But at that moment, even as his shirt and jumper fell, she was reaching behind herself, and her bra's straps were sliding down her arms as it dropped to the floor. Her breasts were very pale, with pert, rosy nipples, crinkled and erect, a small mole on her chest, high up, between them, a little to the left, almost hidden by the chain of the locket.

            She stepped against him again, those breasts flattening against his chest, the nipples pressing sharply into his skin, the warm metal of the locket over his heart as she pulled him down for another long, slow kiss, and her hands slid down his sides, then along his waistband, to open the button and zip at the fly of his jeans, and she pushed them down, not even looking, her thumbs hooking into the elastic waist of his Y-fronts. They caught on his willy – of _course_ he was hard! -- and she lifted the elastic over it as if she'd been doing it for years, and slid them as far down his thighs as she could reach before reaching up agan to take his hard cock in her hand.

            “Hello, Harry,” she breathed, breaking the kiss, and pumped easily at his cock with her hand.

            He moved to her, against her, his cock and her hand pressed between their bellies, and she was pushed back by his motion till she felt the edge of the kitchen table against her bum. Then his fingers were at her fly, all buttons for her, and he squatted down as he caught her jeans and knickers in his fingers, and pulled them together down her legs in a savage jerk, and lifted her right foot, pulling the trainer off of it as he pulled her foot free of the clothing.

            She gasped as he leaned in, then, pressing his nose into the dark curls of her pubic hair, his tongue reaching to her folds.

            Then he was hefting her up onto the tabletop, so she sat perched at the very edge, and he reached up and spread her thighs wide, opening her. Her hands fisted in his unkempt hair, pulling his mouth to her folds,and he lapped eagerly, tongue running up her labia, lapping over her clitoris, probing into her.

            She bucked against his face, steering him this way and that by the fistsfull of his hair, then pulled him up to her, kissed him, tasting her own flavour on his mouth. “Fuck me, Harry,” she breathed. “Fuck me hard. Fuck me now.”

            She reached down with one hand to guide him, and he plunged his cock into her, hard and deep, in a quick, savage thrust that swung his balls up to slap against her ass.

            “Oh, yes! Just like that!” she gasped.

            “_Fuck_, yes!” Harry responded, pushing her back further onto the tabletop with each stroke. Silverware clattered from the table and clanked to the floor, and Harry got one knee up onto the table, pushing Hermione back enough further, to lay on her, mouth reaching for hers as his cock lanced up inside her in pounding strokes. A dish fell, smashing into shards all over the tent's floor.

            “I'm fucking you Hermione!” moaned Harry. “You chose me and I'm fucking you!” he held himself up on one hand as he fucked her, his other hand squeezing her breast hard enough to hurt a little, the glimmering locket bouncing over her heart, against his hand. “I'm fucking you, so fuck him!”

            Each time he spoke, her hips thrust hard up at him, burying his cock deeper within her, and she revelled in his weight and his cock deep inside her, revelled even in the squeezing hand on her breast that she was quite sure would leave a bruise. She stayed with Harry, and this was her reward, this good, hard fucking that Ron was too craven to stay for. She pulled Harry down to her again, even as her hips thrust up, felt the near-smarting heat of the locket pressed between their naked chests, almost painful, exhilarating.

            “Fuck me, Harry!” she cried, again and again, with each of his thrusts, each lift of her pelvis “Fuck me, Harry! Fuck me, Harry!”

            The heat that had pooled within her seemed to form an electric line between her-- her _cunt_ – some part of Hermione was shocked at the harsh word in her thoughts – and the locket that seared between her breasts, seared over her heart, between herself and Harry, and the orgasm that exploded through her was unlike anything she'd ever felt. Her parents had always taught her that sex wasn't dirty-- But this was. The orgasm that thundered through her nervous system like a stampede of mammoths made her feel unclean and filthy, and she saw something like Horror in Harry's eyes he stiffened, as she felt his jism splash up inside her, and then he fell against her, whimpering, drained, and was snoring – actually snoring! -- within a second.

            She felt drained, logy, unclean, and wanted nothing more than to join him in oblivion, her heart beating in time with pulsing heat of the locket...

            _The locket!_ “Oh, no,” she murmured. “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no!”

            She squirmed out from under Harry's sleeping form, pulled the locket off and threw it down, and she looked down at herself, at the bruise that was forming on her breast, and the slickness leaking out of her onto her thighs.

            She found her wand and cleaned herself, and was dressing as Harry rolled on the table, looking at her. She could feel his gaze, but kept her back to him as she buttoned her shirt.

            “Hermione,” he said. “I'm sorry, I didn't... I don't...” He paused, and she heard him landing on the floor, heard the sounds of fabric and a zip before she turned to face him. “It was the Horcrux, Hermione.”

            Hermione shook her head. “The Horcrux only amplifies what's already there. How long have you wanted me, Harry?”

            He looked at his bare feet. She noticed the lines of his muscles – he'd grown so strong – and the hair on his torso – he'd grown into a man.

            “Yule Ball,” he finally said. “It's like, until then, I'd never noticed you were beautiful. But then the djinn was out of his bottle, and there was no going back.” He looked up at her. “You?”

            “Third year. Rescuing Sirius. Riding Buckbeak through the night sky with my arms around you.” She shook her head. “And I kept noticing. How handsome you became. How sexy. I was sure you'd notice how my mouth would get ahead of my brains. When you kissed Cho. When I was telling you last year how fanciable you were? God, I was sure you knew then.”

            “So now what?” Harry looked at the tablecloth, stained with their sex. “This is another Djinn out of its bottle.”

            “No, it's not,” said Hermione, almost kindly, swinging her wand-arm up. “_Obliviate_!”

            She stood close behind him as she banished the tablecloth and scourgified the table itself. “Like a sister,” she kept telling him, over and over again. “You love me like a sister.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
> In her review of **_Harry Potter and the Deathly  Hallows_**, [Argyle S](http://www.thequidditchpitch.org/viewuser.php?uid=7559) asked, _"Okay, who's going to write me Bad!Wrong!Evil! Harry/Hermione Hocrux locket driven rough sex on the dinning table in the tent after Ron leaves fic?" _So I tried it.


End file.
